


May

by Mike_H



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23041423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mike_H/pseuds/Mike_H
Relationships: Takaba Akihito/Uchiha Izuna
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	May

"Do you think," Izuna wonders, head pillowed on Akihito's lap, "that love is a good reason to get married?"

Akihito's thighs are warm against the back of Izuna's head. His fingers are soothing things in Izuna's hair. Izuna feels his eyes shut against the rhythm of them.

"It's good _enough,_ " Akihito replies.

"My sister's getting married today," Izuna says, like it's news. Like it isn't the reason they're here, on the floor of their hotel room, the tile cold beneath the bare flesh of Izuna's body.

Akihito hums. It could be his _We should probably get up off the floor 'cause my legs are cramping_ hum, or his _Your hair's making me hard again_ hum.

Izuna thinks it's a little of both.

"My brother's all excited about it," he says, and he doesn't have to specify _which_ brother. Izuna's only got _one_ younger than he is and it's no secret that Madara — for all his bluster and cooler-than-thou façade — has always been in love with the idea of being in love.

"That's cute," Akihito remarks, and Izuna can hear the smirk in it. Akihito's fingers keep their rhythm through Izuna's hair. His other hand comes to rest upon Izuna's cheek, traces the contour of his face, the line of his neck, walks its way down his chest, his belly, then lower, _lower_ —

Izuna can feel Akihito's erection poking the back of his head. His own erection is a warm, pulsing thing in Akihito's callused palm.

"I don't know if it's ever enough to just be in love," Izuna says with some difficulty, distracted by the dance of Akihito's hands touching all the right places.

  


* * *

  


There's muted porn on the TV. _Clinic_ on repeat, blaring through the speakers of Akihito's phone that lies beside them on the rumpled sheets.

And Akihito, beloved camera in his hand. _Click. Click. Click._

Izuna rides his cock like a wanton harlot, certain that all the faces he's making are abso-fuckin'-lutely ridiculous. No one ever looks good when they're having sex.

But Akihito never minds. This, Izuna knows well. He snaps picture after picture of Izuna on top of him. He calls this _art._ He calls Izuna _beautiful._

And Izuna indulges him. Sometimes, he hams it up for the camera. He stares at Akihito beneath the flutter of his lashes. He smolders.

"Izuna," Akihito says, his gasps part laughter, part pleasured moans. _"Izuna, Izuna,"_ like that's the only word he's got in his vocabulary.

Maybe he's a narcissist, but Izuna's always loved hearing the sound of his own name. Though perhaps that's only 'cause _Akihito's_ the one saying it.

He leans forward, bending Akihito's cock in the way he knows Akihito loves, licks a stripe from his chin to cheek.

Akihito's words give way to incoherence. His arm falls to his side. The camera still lies in his grip, capturing them in an endless array of still-lifes.

_Flash. Flash. Flash._

  


* * *

  


This is exactly the kind of thing that'd annoy him if it were done by anyone else.

But Izuna's the one doing it, so it's okay. He sits in the hallway, back against the wall of his hotel room, bouncing a rubber ball against the opposite wall. He's got a pattern going. _Bounce. Ricochet. Bounce. Ricochet._ The steady _thump-thump-thump_ relaxes him.

Akihito leans against the wall, lit cigarette in hand, camera 'round his neck. The ball hits the wall two inches from where he's standing. His eyes seem to track its movement, amusement and boredom evident in their hazel depths.

Izuna's eyes track Akihito's lips. He wishes he were that cigarette, between Akihito's fingers, between his mouth. Stupidly, he can feel himself hardening.

"We're gonna be late," Akihito says, as if he could read Izuna's mind that's perpetually in the gutter. They've got seven minutes to get their asses to the rooftop garden of the Shuraton Bay. Neither of them move.

Izuna's bowtie still hangs loose around his collar.

Akihito is ready and resplendent in his tux, and Izuna can't take his eyes off of him.

His heart thumps like the red rubber ball against his chest. Breathing is suddenly a challenge. He convinces himself it's because of the smoke from Akihito's cigarette.

  


* * *

  


Izuna's always loved watching him work.

Akihito's hands, the way they hold his camera as if it were something precious. The smile that doesn't leave his eyes. The way he looks through the viewfinder as if he can see to the very core of anyone or anything he's capturing.

Akihito once told him that it's an unexplainable rush, this power of holding something captive, if only for a moment. Then, seeing that moment immortalized.

Takaba Akihito — Izuna realized then — very much relished playing God.

This is one of those Kodak moments. Izuna's parents, teary-eyed behind them. Izuna's sister — the giddy bride — in the middle. Izuna and his brothers flanking her, two to a side.

Akihito doesn't have to get them to smile. He gets them to yell something incredibly cheesy. He wants silly photos as well as elegant ones.

Izuna isn't paying much attention to his words. He is mesmerized by Akihito, awash in the light of the setting sun that paints his hair golden. He does not blink. Does not want to miss a moment of this.

Akihito at work. Akihito in his suit that Izuna can't wait to rip off of him.

His grin is a mad, mad thing. He grins for Akihito.

  


* * *

  


_Akihito could've chosen a different life._

Izuna thinks this, watching him spin Yukino around the dance floor. His sister is radiant, her gigantic smile matching Akihito's wide grin. Izuna thinks — under different circumstances — they'd make a pretty cute couple.

He likes watching Akihito dance. He's the perfect balance of fluid and flexible, confident enough to be silly without looking stupid. Sex in a suit and polished shoes.

There is almost nothing he doesn't enjoy watching Akihito do.

They twirl and twirl, coming to a stop before Izuna, breathless and laughing.

"You'll have to take over from here, little brother," Yukino tells him, eyes bright and cheeks red. "My feet can't keep up with this guy any longer."

She pulls Akihito into a quick hug. "Happy Birthday, darling. Thank you for the dance."

Akihito kisses her on the cheek. "Anytime, Yukino-san." Then, he grabs Izuna's hand and drags him onto the dance floor.

 _He chose **me,**_ Izuna thinks, lacing his fingers behind Akihito's neck.

Akihito's hands come to rest around Izuna's waist. He presses their foreheads together. His breaths are slowing.

Izuna inhales cologne and sweat and _Akihito._ They dance in languid silence, ignoring the uptempo melody, ignoring all the rapidly moving bodies around them.

"This is nice," Akihito says. His fingers travel upward to playfully tug on Izuna's ponytail. His other hand roams downward, shamelessly groping Izuna's ass.

Izuna crashes their lips together, biting on Akihito's tongue in retaliation. He tastes blood and pink champagne. "Shut up," he growls against the corner of Akihito's shit-eating grin.

"Hey," Akihito says, fingers tangling in the edges of Izuna's hair. " _We're_ enough, aren't we?"

Izuna shrugs. Not because he doesn't know, but because they're so much _more_ than _just enough._

He looks at Akihito and sees fire. Sparking and burning in his hazel eyes, a deep forest flame. Akihito's hands that touch him, feel him, hold him as if he were the only thing worth holding in this fucked up world.

Izuna's heart is a bird furiously beating its wings against the confines of his chest. He presses himself against Akihito's warm body, against the heart that beats — alacritous and _alive_ — like his own.

_Come let me out._


End file.
